


Arrogant Boy, Cause A Scene Like You're Supposed To

by halfsweet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Drinking, Family Issues, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Tactile Hallucination, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age 23, Patrick Stumph is married to the Wentz's eldest son- all because their parents are best friends with each other. Patrick decides to go through with it to keep his parents happy.</p><p>Things go well for them, until Patrick slips up one night. From then on, everything starts to go downhill.</p><p>-</p><p>"I'd be fine if my husband and his friend were just sleeping, you know, tired after a day's worth of classes? But that's not what happened, was it?"</p><p>Patrick winces and keeps his gaze downwards, bracing himself for what's coming next.</p><p>"So, tell me, Patrick, what am I supposed to feel when I found my husband and his friend, sleeping, <i>naked?</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look. Yet another long story with Brendon in it.
> 
> Remember all those fluffs I wrote since last December? Think of them as compensation for this fic lol

Patrick stares at his reflection in the mirror, feeling a little more than overwhelmed at the fact that _his wedding_ is starting in just less than an hour, or a few minutes, he doesn't really know. He doesn't know why he decided to go through with this.

Right. To make his parents happy.

He closes his eyes, and his breathing starts to quicken. He can do this. This is his golden ticket to his parents' happiness. This is his chance to make his parents proud of him.

The sound of the door creaking open startles Patrick, and he opens his eyes to see Brendon in the reflection of the mirror. He sighs and turns around to face his friend.

He waits for Brendon to close the door and walks up to him, shifting his weight on one foot to another as Brendon stops in his track, eyes wide. Patrick starts to feel self-conscious and rubs the back of his neck.

"Uh, does it look weird, Bren? Do I look weird?"

When Brendon doesn't give any response, Patrick clears his throat to get his attention. "Bren? Brendon?" He furrows his brows and snaps his fingers in front of his friend. "Brendon!"

He finally catches Brendon's attention and flushes under his awed look. "You look… wow." Brendon breathes out.

" _Wow_ weird, or _wow_ wow?" Patrick jokes, trying to calm his jittery nerves by dragging a hand down his face and laughing at the absence of the familiar rough feel. "Can you believe it, Bren? They cut my hair _and_ shaved off my sideburns!"

"It's so smooth, though." Brendon grins as he runs a finger down where Patrick's long sideburns used to be. "Like a baby's bottom."

"I look terrible, don't I? I- I feel weird, Bren. Everyone's going to look at me, and I can't put a hat on, and what if I tripped?" He begins to imagine all kinds of scenarios that will make him the laughing stock of everyone. "Oh, God, what if-"

"Patrick, calm down." Brendon smiles, placing his hands on Patrick's shoulders. Patrick relaxes his body, but that doesn't stop him from panicking on the inside.

"You're going to do just fine," Brendon continues and fixes Patrick's bow. Patrick makes a low, keening sound, and runs his fingers through his, now short, hair. "There's too many people out there, Bren, and I don't know, like, half of them."

Brendon gives him a reassuring smile, which manages to calm Patrick slightly. "Think of it this way. When you're walking, Pete will be waiting at the end."

"It'll be much easier if it were you," Patrick mumbles while fiddling with his cuffs. "You're the only person I know in this entire place."

"Now you're just exaggerating." Brendon chides as he bats Patrick's hand away, fixing his cuffs. "Besides, in one way or another, I'll be at the end, too. In case you've forgotten, I'm your _best man_."

Patrick stays still as he lets Brendon fuss over him. The dreaded feeling comes back to him, raising the level of his anxiousness. "What will happen if I run away? Will people come looking for me? Will they be mad? I still have time to make it through the door, right?"

The look from Brendon is enough to keep his mouth shut from blabbering any further. "Come on, Patrick. Remember why you're doing this in the first place."

To make his parents happy.

His parents had been excited when they were reunited with their old friends months ago. So excited, in fact, that they planned to become one family. Patrick's the only person left in the family who's single- his brother already engaged, his sister married and living happily with her husband.

The Wentz family has two sons and a daughter, and Patrick's marrying the eldest son. He finds it weird that they didn't match him up with their daughter, until they told him that she's way, _way_ too young for him. Patrick immediately dropped the subject and resigned to his fate.

Patrick was hesitant at the idea of marrying someone he didn't know. But when he saw the smiles on his parents' faces, everything flew out the window and he agreed to the marriage.

He hasn't seen his parents smile at him like they're _proud_ of him before.

"Wish they could wait until I've graduated though." Patrick mumbles, picking at his nails absent-mindedly. "I don't understand why they're so excited. I mean, I only have one semester left. Surely they can wait that long."

Brendon scoffs at him and fixes his hair. "What if you found someone else? They probably don't want to risk anything."

Patrick swallows as he steps away from Brendon, taking a seat on a chair. "Do you think all this is a mistake? Do you think I made a mistake, Bren?"

He looks up to see an unreadable look on Brendon's face. "Well, what do you think?" He asks timidly.

"I-" Brendon clears his throat, "I think that it's not really in my place to say anything."

Patrick has had enough experience from his past to know how to read between the lines. He lets out a sigh and slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Does that mean a yes? You really think this is a mistake?"

"I mean that as your best man, _and your best friend_ , your family's going to kill me if they found out you ran away." Brendon sighs.

Patrick lets out a huff before glancing up at Brendon. "You need to stop beating around the bush, Bren. You've been doing that for a long time now."

A small smile makes its way on Brendon's face. "What's the fun in that if I stopped?"

Patrick rolls his eyes at him, ignoring Brendon's amused smirk. Brendon straightens his back and makes his way to the door. "Anyway, I'll go get you a drink. Water?"

"Wine!" Patrick calls out after him and slouches on the chair. He's going to need a lot of it if he wants to make it through the day.

-

The ceremony goes by in a blur in Patrick's opinion. One second he was walking down the aisle, the next they were kissing. And now, the reception.

Patrick flops down on the empty chair next to Brendon once the guests have started to leave. He accepts the glass of wine handed to him and gulps it down in one go.

"Getting married is really tiring." He sighs, propping his elbow on the table and looking around. Pete is talking with his friends; Patrick only recognizes Andy though, the tattooed red-haired man who is also Pete's best man.

Their parents seem to have a good time, engaging with their friends and families with huge smiles on their faces. Looks like he has done his job pretty good. He gives himself a mental pat on the back.

"Of course." Brendon snorts next to him, fixing his gaze down on his lap. Patrick frowns and takes a peek at the direction Brendon has his eyes on- Brendon looks so fixated that it gets Patrick wondering what it's about- only to find a familiar item in his hands.

"You brought a 3DS?" Patrick asks incredulously. "Seriously, Brendon, how did you bring it here?"

Brendon shrugs, letting out a curse before answering his question. "There's this thing called a 'pocket'. Not sure if you've heard of it, but this pocket thing is very useful if you want to carry stuff anywhere."

"Oh, screw you." Patrick retorts back, already used to Brendon's sarcastic remark. "I was busting my ass off tonight, and you're playing 3DS. Why?"

"Let's see. You're married. You're parading around with your new husband. What else can I do other than down my sorrows in the woes of Smash Bros?"

His tone sounds a little too harsh to Patrick's liking, but he just ignores it as he raises his hand to a waiter for a glass of wine. When the waiter arrives to give him his drink, he thanks the waiter before answering his friend. "You can help me by taking my mind off of things. Seriously, Bren, all my relatives are giving me this… _look_."

He shudders to himself at the looks he received the entire night. They were all grinning, giving him sly looks, and all sorts of looks that made him uncomfortable in one second flat.

"Well, duh. That's what you get on your wedding night." Brendon states matter-of-factly and curses at the console, then hands it to Patrick. "Smash Bros?"

Patrick takes it without wasting another second- anything as long as he can escape the world for a while.

"Have you talked to Pete yet?" Brendon asks him. Patrick shrugs in reply, keeping his gaze locked onto the tiny screen. "He's with his friends."

"Not anymore." Brendon whistles.

Patrick hums in confusion, not keeping his eyes off of the console, until he feels a presence coming up to him and sitting next to him.

"3DS? Really?"

He flushes at the voice and ducks his head, embarrassed, and returns the console back to Brendon. "Right. Sorry."

"Well, I better get going now. It's getting late." Brendon pats him on the back and turns to shake hands with Pete. "Take really good care of this little bastard, yeah?"

Patrick scowls and waits for both of them to finish laughing. Once they do, Brendon gives them his hearty congratulations, but Patrick doesn't miss the bittersweet tone in his voice.

"Bren, thank you." Patrick looks up at him in earnest. If it weren't for him, Patrick would've gone into a full-blown panic attack before the ceremony.

"Don't worry about it. See you after the break." Brendon waves a goodbye before leaving the reception. Patrick looks around the area and finds that there are only a number of guests left, minus the staffs. He can't wait for the reception to be over. Being around in a crowd for a long time has taken its toll on him.

"You tired already?" Pete cocks his head in question.

Patrick's dead tired, and he wants nothing more but to just sleep, but he also doesn't want to make Pete think lowly of him. After all, Pete's happiness is his parents' happiness. He forces a smile and shakes his head. "I still can handle it. You?"

Pete hums and looks at his watch. "Same here. We'll just wait until the last guest leaves. Around an hour tops. Is that okay?"

 _Not okay_. "Yeah, okay."

-

"Is this the last of your stuff?"

Patrick scans over the boxes they packed from his apartment. Since they're married, their parents have insisted that they live together. And between his small apartment and Pete's big house, there isn't really much to discuss.

"Yeah, I think that's all." Patrick nods to himself, then turns to Pete. "I'll go return the key to the landlord."

He walks back into the apartment complex, finds the owner by the stairs, and calls for him. "Here's the key and this month's rent."

"You still have two weeks left, though. You don't have to pay for the whole month." The owner hands him back half the money, but Patrick shakes his head, then leans forward. "Can I ask for your help?"

"As long as it isn't illegal. What is it?"

Patrick chuckles and whispers in a low voice so as to not let anyone hear them. "If it's possible, can you keep one room open?"

The owner gives him a weird look before nodding. "I'll try. Have fun in your new place."

When he exits the complex, all of his items have already been placed in Pete's car, and Pete himself is in the driver's seat, playing with his phone. He opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat. "Sorry. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not really. Ready to go?"

Patrick hums as he buckles his seatbelt, Pete beginning to drive them to his house. _Their_ house, now.

"So, can we, uh, not, you know-" Patrick looks down at his feet and slides his glasses up his nose, "not sleep in the same room?"

When his question is met with silence, he immediately feels guilty. What married couple doesn't sleep in the same room? He wants to take back his words, but the words are caught in his throat when Pete just smiles at him.

"Yeah, sure. Figured you'd be uncomfortable anyway. You can pick any room you want."

Patrick lets out a breath he's been holding and smiles up at Pete, cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

"Do I deserve a kiss for that?" Pete grins cheekily at him, tapping his cheek. Patrick's eyes widen in surprise, his glasses slipping down. "W- what-"

He closes his mouth when Pete starts cackling, pinching his cheek. "Oh, this is gonna be so much fun. You're cute when you're blushing."

Patrick frowns as he rubs his sore cheek. Maybe it's not too late to move back into his old apartment.

-

Patrick huffs angrily at his laptop, wondering why it suddenly freezes. It worked fine just seconds ago. He presses on random keys, hoping that it would fix his problem, before finally giving up, groaning in frustration.

Well, surely Pete knows how to fix it. It doesn't hurt to try. With that thought, he grabs his laptop and makes his way to Pete's room. He knocks on Pete's door twice before entering, getting increasingly distressed about his laptop. He really needs to get start working on his senior project. "Hey, Pete, can you help me- _oh, holy shit. I'm so sorry!_ "

He quickly backs out and squeezes his eyes shut, face burning. _Holy shit_ , he just walked in on Pete walking out of his bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet. There's no way he can get the image out of his mind now.

The tan skin. The six-pack. The tattoos. _Holy shit, the tattoos._

His heart races when he feels Pete's body heat from behind him. "Will you _please_ put on a shirt?" He squeaks out.

"Oh, come on. We're married. What's there to be embarrassed about?"

Pete's laughing at him. Patrick just knows Pete is having fun with his embarrassment. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Pete blows in his ear.

"To save your virgin eyes, fine. I'll go put on a shirt." Pete complies, stepping away from Patrick, who sighs in relief. "Come on in. What do you want?"

After waiting for a few seconds to regain his composure, he enters Pete's room, glad that Pete's no longer shirtless. He walks up to Pete and shows him his laptop, frowning. "It keeps freezing. One second it was fine, and the next it froze. I was hoping you can fix it. I really need to use it for my senior project."

Pete takes the laptop in his hands and sits on his bed, fingers tapping on the keys. "You're a music student, right? What's your senior project about?" Pete questions as he attempts to find the problem with Patrick's laptop.

Patrick is caught off guard at the question. No one has ever asked him about his project before, not even his family. So when Pete asked him, a wide grin spreads across his face, eager to finally talk about his project.

"Right. Anyway, I'm majoring in composition, so our project is to compose a piece for our recital and three original songs. I've finished the recital piece last semester, but I still haven't performed the piece yet. So, now, I want to start working on those three songs." He finishes with a smile, wheezing slightly at the end.

Pete raises a brow in amusement at him. "You're going to perform all of them?"

"Just the recital piece. We only have to record the three songs and burn them into a CD, then give it to the professors." Patrick answers him, still feeling elated at the fact that he gets to talk about his course. "We don't have to perform the songs in front of everyone."

"Will you let me listen to them when they're finished?"

Patrick's cheeks redden at Pete's request. He has never played his songs to anyone other than his professors, not even Brendon. And to play his songs to a stranger- granted, Pete's his _husband_ now, but he's somehow still a stranger to Patrick- is a little unnerving. "Uh, one day? Maybe?"

Pete shoots him a blinding smile and hands the laptop to Patrick. "Well, what are you waiting for? Start writing."

When Patrick sees that his laptop is working like usual, he bounces on his feet in excitement before turning to Pete, beaming. "Thank you."

"What are husbands for, right?"

The playful tone in Pete's voice causes Patrick to blush, tip of his ears burning red. He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down. "Right. Uh, thanks again."

He shuffles out of Pete's bedroom as quick as he can, ignoring Pete's loud braying laughter which can be heard even in his own room.

-

"Patrick!"

"Coming!" Hearing Pete calling for him, he quickly grabs his bag and runs to the front door where Pete is already waiting for him.

He waits for Pete to lock the door before walking together to Pete's car. His break has ended, and his first class of his _last_ semester starts today. Patrick's face brightens at the thought of the semester being his last, and more importantly, the senior project he will be doing.

"You wanna stop somewhere for breakfast?"

Patrick shakes his head, smiling apologetically. "I don't normally eat breakfast. I usually skip them."

Pete scrunches up his face and starts to drive. The entire ride is filled with questions from Pete, and Patrick has no problem answering. Pete seems like he's getting used to them being married, but Patrick himself is still feeling awkward about it.

"What time does your class finish today?" Pete asks him. Patrick pulls out his schedule from his bag and hums. "Three. But I have a long gap in the middle."

"Do you want me to pick you up? But you're going to have to wait until I got off from work, though."

Patrick gives half a shrug before shoving the schedule into his pocket for easy access later. "Brendon has a car. He can, uh, drive me back? If that's okay with you?" He scratches the side of his face as he says the last sentence; a habit he always does whenever he's nervous.

"You know you don't have to ask permission to do anything, right?" Pete's eyes sparkle with amusement as he glances sideways in Patrick's direction. Flushing, Patrick reminds him to keep his eyes on the road.

"So, uh, does that mean I can still continue my job?" Patrick plays with the ring on his finger, making mental notes to take it off before class.

"You have a job?" Pete arches a brow, skeptical.

"Part-time at a small cafe. So I can pay my rent and buy my own stuff." Patrick replies, feeling nervous. "I know we're living together now, but I'm still not comfortable letting people pay for me."

Pete hums in contemplation, then turns to Patrick with a concerned expression. "You know I don't mind about that, right? But if you want to, then sure, I guess."

"Really?" Patrick snaps his head to Pete in disbelief. "Wow, thank you."

When they've finally arrived, Patrick grabs his bag and thanks Pete again, opening the door. Before he can get out, Pete calls his name.

"Don't I get a goodbye kiss?" Pete looks at him with wide eyes, smiling innocently. Heat creeps up Patrick's neck as he fumbles on his words. "I- I- uh, I-"

His mouth snaps shut at the sound of Pete's deep chuckle. "Study smart."

He nods mutely and gets out of the car, still blushing, and heads straight to his class, not looking back to see Pete's car driving away.

-

Patrick hums softly to the song he's playing on his laptop while doing his assignment for the week on the kitchen counter. When he notices Pete walking into the kitchen with a box of pizza, he lowers the volume down and goes to the fridge to take two bottles of beer out.

"You really love pizza, don't you?" Patrick arches his brow at him. Almost every night since they've been living together, they have pizza for dinner. Patrick's not complaining, considering none of them knows how to use the kitchen, but he craves for other kinds of food once in a while.

"Are you kidding me? Pizza is _life_." Pete grins as he opens the box, gesturing for Patrick to grab a slice. "Careful. It's still hot."

Patrick sets aside his laptop and takes a slice, blowing on it to make it cool faster. They eat in silence, the songs from Patrick's laptop playing softly in the background.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Patrick questions as he swallows a mouthful of pizza. Pete nods in reply, gesturing for him to continue.

"Why did you agree to this marriage?"

Pete shrugs before reaching for the second slice. "Don't know. I'm convinced that no one will ever love me, so I just hand it to my mom."

That's pretty depressing, Patrick thinks. "Did something happen in your last relationship?"

"Got cheated on after five years." Pete shoots him a quick grin, but Patrick sees the sadness in his eyes. He doesn't know how it feels like being cheated on, but he knows that it sucks. He gives Pete a sympathetic smile and raises his beer. "Sorry to hear that."

"Look at the bright side, though. I got an adorable as fuck husband to spend my lifetime with." Pete smirks at him.

Patrick rolls his eyes as he eats the next slice of pizza. "And you're okay with telling me all this?"

"You seem nice. I feel like I can trust you." Pete's face softens as he props his elbow on the kitchen island, just gazing at Patrick, who flushes at the attention.

"You shouldn't trust a stranger that easily." Patrick reminds him as he drinks his beer. "Especially after what you've been through. I know I wouldn't."

"You're not just a stranger, though." Pete grins at him, "you're also my husband. Someone I've sworn to love and cherish."

Something about the way Pete says it tugs at his heartstrings. They were strangers when they exchanged vows. And after two months of living together, Patrick's not going to deny that they have gotten closer with each other.

But there's no way someone can fall in love in just two months.

-

"Pete's not home yet?"

Patrick greets his friend as he motions for Brendon to enter the house, both of them making their way to Patrick's room. "No. He's working overnight."

"Well, let's start working on our assignments. What do you say?" Brendon plops down on the floor, next to Patrick's bed, and takes out his laptop. "Then we can work on our projects a little bit."

"You start. I'll grab us some beer."

When Patrick comes back with beers in both his hands, Brendon has already started doing his assignments. He joins his friend on the floor and and hands him a bottle of beer, then opens his laptop.

They sit in silence and concentrate on their works, only the sound of keyboards being tapped is heard in the dim room. Patrick doesn't even realize what the time is until Brendon starts to yawn next to him.

"I can't believe it's already eleven." Patrick takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, feeling the back of his eyelids burning from staring at the bright screen for a long time.

"Time for a break." Brendon quips with a grin, lifting the bottle of beer to his mouth. Patrick places his laptop to the side as he drinks from a new bottle.

Patrick likes this moment the most, where he can unwind and relax while drinking beer, not having anything to worry about. He can't remember how long time has passed by after that, or how much they have both drank.

"Imagine if your parents found out that you drink, like, _a lot_." Brendon chuckles as he takes a swig of his beer. "You're gonna get in _so_ much trouble."

Patrick laughs at the image of his parents getting enraged over the fact that he drinks. "I don't drink a lot. Besides, I got away with it for years now. They didn't even suspect a thing." He opens another bottle and takes a large gulp. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

"You're a sneaky little bastard is what you are." Brendon throws him a lazy glance and a smirk, leaning forward to poke him on the nose. The room suddenly feels too hot for him, and his heartbeat starts to quicken.

Patrick looks up to see Brendon openly staring at him. He licks his dry lip and tries to focus on the person in front of him. "What?"

"I still can't believe you're married." Brendon shakes his head and laughs breathlessly. "S'been, like, a couple of months, and I still can't believe it."

The drunken slur from Brendon sounds funny to his ears, and he joins Brendon in his laughing fest. He tilts his head and freezes when Brendon's face is just mere inches away from him.

There's a faint buzz at the back of his head, inhibiting any rational thoughts that his brain is trying to make as they both lean in until their lips brush gently over each other, hesitant and testing. Patrick moans softly before pressing into the kiss, pulling Brendon on top of him.

The kiss starts to get heated with each passing second, and the buzz in his head gets louder. He can feel Brendon's fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. Patrick pulls away for air and drops his head on Brendon's shoulder, panting. "B- bed, please."

-

A small groan wakes Patrick up the following morning. He blinks his eyes blearily and rolls over on his side to get back to sleep, and his heart almost jumps out of his chest when he sees his friend lying next to him.

He raises his hand tentatively to shake Brendon awake. "Bren, hey, wake up."

Brendon groans again before opening his eyes. Patrick counts the second until his friend finally catches up. _Ten seconds._

Brendon lets out a string of curses and promptly sits up to grab his clothes. "Shit. We didn't do anything, right? Like, we just stripped off our clothes and fell asleep, right?"

A heavy, sinking feeling settles in Patrick's gut when he feels something dried sticking on his chest. He turns to Brendon, eyes wide in horror. "B- Brendon…"

Brendon sports the same look as Patrick- panicked. He quickly puts on his pants and sits on the bed, keeping a distance between them. "Okay, okay. Calm down. Look, we'll figure this out."

Patrick wants so badly to calm down, but the more he tries to think about last night, the more hysterical he gets. How far did they go? What else happened last night?

He jolts out of his thoughts when Brendon calls his name. "We'll clean up first, okay? Throw all the bottles away, then we'll talk."

There's nothing Patrick can do but agree with Brendon. He reaches for his clothes, and while Brendon has his back turned to him to get his shirt, he quickly slides on his pants and shirt. They begin to pick up the empty bottles of beer on the floor.

"You want to shower first?" Patrick raises his brow at his friend. Brendon shakes his head in return, muttering, "Aspirin would be nice, though."

Patrick always keeps his painkillers by his bed, and he shrugs when Brendon gives him a skeptical look. "Yeah, I'm not even gonna ask why you keep aspirin next to your bed." Brendon swallows the pill dry and dumps the cans into a plastic bag Patrick finds on the floor.

The walk downstairs is quiet for both of them. Patrick doesn't want to risk Pete overhearing them talking, even though Pete hasn't come back since yesterday. He also doesn't want anything to be awkward between him and Brendon; Brendon is the only person he trusts in his entire life.

"Look, Patrick-"

"Can we pretend nothing happened?" Patrick blurts out before Brendon can finish his sentence. His heart begins to race as he waits for Brendon's answer. It isn't until they reach the front door that Brendon finally agrees. "Yeah, okay."

Patrick lets out a relieved sigh, all the tension in his body gone. "See you at class?"

Brendon gives him a wordless nod and walks to his car parked outside; Patrick tries not to feel offended that Brendon doesn't even look at him. Once he's gone, Patrick throws out the trash, wanting to get rid of the bottles as fast as possible. He glances at the clock on the wall and finds that it's already nine. Pete's car isn't in the driveway, and Patrick wonders just how much work Pete has in his office.

He makes his way to the kitchen for breakfast, pulling out a box of cereal and a bowl. He plans to wash the sheets before Pete comes back, catch up with his assignments, then work on his senior project. Satisfied with the plan, he goes to the fridge to retrieve the milk, only to find a sticky note on it. His face blanches as his eyes skim over the words written.

_Glad you had fun last night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already written around 18k of this, but then I figured it's too long to be just one chapter. So I'm dividing it into three parts. Next one will definitely be better!
> 
> Leave some comments!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be the longest chapter I've ever written.
> 
> Anyway, I assume you guys are ready for this!

Pete doesn't return home for the rest of the day. Patrick is left feeling anxious after he found the note- his appetite lost and mood gone. He sits in the living room the entire time, waiting for Pete to walk through the front door.

And even then, Patrick doesn't know what to say to Pete.

His heart almost jumps out of his chest when he hears the sound of Pete's car being pulled up outside. His fingers grip the cushion on the couch. _Any second now._

The door creaks open. Pete steps inside, his back turned to Patrick, and closes the door, making his way to his room. Patrick quickly gets up from his seat and tails after Pete.

"Pete, I- I'm sorry. I didn't- We were- we were drunk," Patrick stammers, feeling a cold dread at the bottom of his stomach. Pete doesn't stop his pace once, just keeps walking to his room. "Pete, wait."

He holds his hand out to turn Pete around, but Pete just shrugs his hand away. They're near Pete's room now, and Patrick is running out of things to say. He can't come up with something other than _we were drunk_ and _I'm sorry_. "Pete, please- just, listen to me-"

Pete stops abruptly, sending Patrick crashing into his back. A trail of goosebumps appear on his arms and neck at the way Pete is looking at him.

Pete twists his body, and he has his hands in the pockets. Patrick swallows when he realizes that they're fists.

"Patrick, let me ask you a question." Pete's smooth voice sends shivers down his spine, and he can only nod.

"What do you think I feel when I returned home, intending to surprise _my husband_ , and I found him on the bed with _someone else_ instead? I'd be fine if my husband and his friend were just sleeping, you know, tired after a day's worth of classes? But that's not what happened, was it?"

Patrick winces and keeps his gaze downwards, bracing himself for what's coming next.

"So, tell me, Patrick, what am I supposed to feel when I found my husband and his friend, sleeping, _naked?_ "

"Pete, I-" Patrick really doesn't have any answer to give to Pete. He must have looked like a fool and _even more guilty_ when he stands there, mouth hanging, no words coming out. Pete scoffs, turning back around to enter his room.

"Pete- Pete, I'm sorry!" Patrick cries out, hand reaching out for Pete's, but Pete moves away from him, leaving Patrick's hand hanging mid-air. "Pete! Pete, please-"

Pete shuts the door in Patrick's face, and Patrick can only stare dejectedly at the door. He slides down against the wall and pulls his knees to his chest, holding back a frustrated scream. He can't handle having another person disappointed in him again.

-

Ever since that night, Patrick has an inkling that Pete will avoid him. And Pete does. He goes to work early in the morning, leaving Patrick to fend for himself. Patrick is hurt by it, but pushes it to the back of his mind as he calls Brendon for help.

Brendon seems fine driving Patrick to class- they have the same classes and schedule anyway. Brendon doesn't ask him why Pete won't drive him, and Patrick knows that Brendon knows the answer to the question.

He applies the last of band-aids on his palm and observes his hands. Both of his hands have band-aids on them from Patrick's attempt trying to cook pizza that night. He had cut his fingers more times than he cares to count and gotten burnt holding the hot tray.

He hopes Pete will forgive him this time.

He carries the pizza carefully to the dining room, where Pete has just come back from work.

"I, uh, made pizza?" Patrick looks up at him under his lashes. "Your favourite."

He slides the plate of pizza towards Pete nervously, waiting for Pete to eat a slice. His heart thumps loudly when Pete takes the plate in his hand, lifting it up. He stiffens and squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of the plate smashed to the floor.

He opens his eyes to see Pete has already turned his back towards him, heading towards the stairs and not saying anything. He bites the inside of his cheek and crouches down to pick up the shattered pieces of the plate and the pizza.

Of course it's not going to be enough. The efforts he put in to redeem himself doesn't even amount to the damage he had done. _Baking pizza_ , he scoffs to himself in disbelief. He's going to do more than that if he wants to get Pete's forgiveness.

He winces when his finger grazes the sharp edge of the plate, making it bleed. He brings the finger to his mouth and sucks on it. He needs to put a band-aid on it later, and he needs to find a way to keep his hands hidden so his classmates, Brendon especially, won't ask him about the band-aids littered on both of his hands.

He looks back down to the mess on the floor. He'll do his best next time. He won't let Pete down again.

-

Patrick won't give up. He'll fix everything before his parents find out about their situation. There will be _hell_ to pay if that ever happens.

The sound of Pete's car catches his attention, and Patrick gets out of his bed, ready to face Pete once again. He walks out of his room and to the living room, greeting Pete.

His heart almost breaks when Pete ignores him. _Pete has never ignored him before._ "Pete, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get drunk. Pete-"

_Damn it. He's not going to cry._

"Pete, please, I'd do anything. Just- please forgive me. Please talk to me again." Patrick pleads, reaching for the sleeve of Pete's shirt to stop him from walking away again. "Name your price, _anything_ , and I'll do it!

He holds his breath as Pete scrutinizes him before snatching his arm away. "I want you to get tested. Doubt you two were using protection." Pete says it nonchalantly, but Patrick can hear the underlying fury behind his voice. He swallows and nods. "Of course. Then, will you talk to me again?"

The ache in his chest grows bigger when Pete walks away like how he always does: without saying another word or giving him a glance.

-

"I- I got back the test result." Patrick curses himself for stammering. That's only going to make him less believable. He opens his bag and fishes around for the printed paper that has his result. He went to the hospital last week, and when the result was out, he had asked the doctor for a copy, in case Pete doesn't believe him.

He places the paper on the table, sliding it to Pete. "It's negative. I- I'm clean."

He's in cold sweat when Pete takes the paper in his hand, eyes riffling through the result. Pete is silent the entire time, and when he's done, he places the paper back on the table and stands up.

"Strip."

Patrick's heart drops at Pete's command. "W- what?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." Pete steps closer to him, and for every step forward Pete takes, Patrick moves one step backwards until he feels a wall behind his back. Patrick tries to breathe, but each time he does, his breathing comes up short.

"Take your clothes off, or I'll do it myself." Pete's gruff voice makes his skin tingle uncomfortably, and he huddles into himself as Pete takes another step forward- there's almost no space between them now, any closer and they'll be pressed chest-to-chest.

Patrick flicks his eyes trying to find an escape, and before he can make a move, Pete already has him trapped by pinning him to the wall, hands gripping down tight on his hips. His blood runs cold at the glint in Pete's eyes.

"Well? You said you'd do anything, right? Start stripping."

"Pete." Patrick begs, hoping that Pete will back away. The situation is far beyond Patrick can handle.

"Don't pretend you don't love this." Pete leans in to whisper in his ear. Patrick winces as he feels Pete's fingernails digging into the skin. "So, how did you guys do it? Did you suck him off? Did he fuck you?"

With each word, Pete's hand slides up under his shirt with rough touches. "Pete, stop!" He pushes Pete's hand away from his shirt, but Pete tightens his grip, leaving bruises that Patrick is sure will come up the next morning.

"Were you on your hands and knees? On your back?" Pete lowers his voice to an octave. Patrick shudders at how menacing his voice sounds. This Pete is a totally different person than the Pete Patrick is married to.

"Maybe if I fuck you real good, you won't sleep with anyone else. You'd like that, huh? Want me to fuck you hard?"

That does it for Patrick. With all the courage and power he can muster, he shoves Pete away, heart thumping wildly at the thought of how Pete will react. Is Pete going to hit him? _Is Pete going to force himself on him?_

Pete only snorts and backs away. "Figures. Don't say anything you wouldn't do."

Patrick gulps down as much air as he can, relieved that he's finally having space to himself, but the feeling is short-lived when Pete growls in his ear.

"Remember, you're my husband, and you're in my house. I can do _anything_ to you if I want to."

-

_Patrick finds himself sitting on a large bed, but the surrounding is so dark he can't even see anything past the bed. His fingers grip the bed sheets, ready to dive under it in case something happens. He keeps looking around for an escape route, until a voice cuts through the silence._

_"Well? What are you waiting for? Start stripping."_

_He gulps at the voice, heart rate spiking. "P- Pete? What's going on?"_

_"Take your clothes off, or I'll do it myself."_

_Patrick finds himself paralyzed and unable to move. His mouth clamps shut as his hands start to remove his shirt on their own. He tries to stop, tries to take control of his own body, but his hands keep moving- as if they have a mind of their own._

_When his shirt is finally off, Patrick fights to open his mouth. To scream, to shout, to cry, to_ beg for everything to stop.

_"Remember, Patrick." This time, his mother's voice echoes in the void. "Pete's happiness is our happiness. Don't let him down, or you're letting us down, too. Just like how you always do."_

_Patrick squeezes his eyes shut as his hands slide down to unbuckle his belt._ This is a nightmare. This isn't real.

_"Are you sure?" Pete voices up again. Patrick can't see him- it's like Pete's not there, only his voice is- until he feels a crawling sensation under his skin. His eyes widen when he sees a bump moves under his skin._

_"I can do_ anything _to you if I want to."_

-

Patrick wakes up with a cold sweat, gasping for breath, and immediately scratches his hands as if to get rid of the creepy crawling feeling. His breathing is getting shorter and shorter, and his arms are now littered with angry red lines.

He immediately jumps out of bed, straight into the bathroom and under the shower. As the water washes over him, he scrubs furiously all over his body until the sensation is gone.

His limbs are shaking by the time he puts his clothes on. The nightmare feels too real to him. Just thinking about it makes him want to cry. He can still feel _it_ , hiding somewhere under his skin.

Figuring that he's not going back to sleep anytime soon, or ever, he sneaks his way to the kitchen. He manages to steal a glance at the clock on the way- _5.30_. In the morning.

His body is moving on auto-pilot. The next thing he knows, he's standing by the kitchen island, staring at the wall with a beer in his hand. If there's one thing that can get his mind off of things, it's alcohol no doubt.

Besides, his hands have stopped shaking when he takes the first sip.

-

Patrick stares at the container in front of him. The only reason he went downstairs that night is to grab a bottle of water; he usually spends the whole time locked up in the confines of his own room, working on his assignments in general. Imagine his surprise when he sees Chinese takeout on the kitchen island, with a note next to it.

_Eat_

It's a simple note with one word, but it sends Patrick's heart fluttering. Even when Pete's angry at him, he still cares for his wellbeing.

He sits on a bar stool and opens all the containers, stomach growling at the delicious smell wafting out. Without wasting another second, he begins to eat the food, moaning at the taste. Maybe there's hope that everything will be better again between them.

-

"So, we're having senior recital next week," Patrick says, running his finger through his hair in an attempt to calm his nerves down. He's still feeling the terror from the night when Pete had him pinned against a wall, but he also gains a little courage each time Pete bought takeout food for him for dinner every night.

Pete doesn't give any response to him, just keeps his gaze locked on the screen of his laptop, typing away. Patrick clears his throat again, hoping that it will get Pete's attention. "So, uh, my turn is on Thursday night. Everyone's invited to come."

He takes a deep breath and sits on the stool across Pete. "I'm performing, Pete. I- I composed the piece myself. I'm playing the piano, and I hope you'll like it?" He ends with a hopeful tone and smiles, but quickly drops it when Pete doesn't even glance in his direction. "Right… uh, I hope you can come. It would mean a lot to me. I- I even invited our parents!"

He bites his lip, waiting for Pete to say anything. When he doesn't, Patrick droops his eyes, shoulders hunched in defeat. "Am I that disgusting that you won't even look at me, Pete?"

His ears perk up when he hears Pete sigh, and he looks up to see that Pete is grabbing his laptop and moving to someplace else. Patrick chokes down a sob and folds his arms on the counter, burying his face in them.

He'll do better next time. He'll show Pete what he can do during his performance. Then maybe Pete will look at him again.

-

_He's in the same room again, same bed, same state as the last nightmare. Shirt off, belt undone._

_"Patrick, are you okay?" His heart skips at Brendon's voice. Maybe Brendon can help him. He tries to crane his neck, but none of his body parts obey him._

_He makes a low, feeble sound when his pants are off, and a louder, sharper cry when three large bumps move under the skin of his legs._

Help!

-

Pete bought him Italian food this time, and there's the same one-word note next to it. The food was delicious like any other food Pete bought him. Only this time, Patrick is hunched over the toilet bowl, dry heaving once, twice, then throwing up his dinner.

He closes the lid and rests his head on it once he's done, hand blindly reaching for the flush handle. The heaving uses up a lot of his energy, and he's too tired to even get up and open his eyes. So he closes his eyes, intending to rest for a few minutes before he goes back to his room.

When he finally opens his eyes again, he's in his room and on his bed, blanket pulled up to his chin. He grabs for his phone and sees that it's almost nine in the morning. He's glad that it's the weekend.

He rolls out of bed sluggishly, wrapping the blanket around himself, and makes his way to the kitchen for something to drink. But when he opens the door, he finds a plastic bag hanging from the door knob. He takes the plastic bag in his hands and peeks inside.

Huh. Medications for food poisoning.

Patrick has mixed feelings about the whole situation between him and Pete. He knows Pete is still angry at him, but then he does all kinds of things that make Patrick believe that he's already forgiven. And if Patrick has to be honest, he's getting tired of everything.

-

"Patrick, when was the last time you had some sleep?"

"I'm fine, Bren." Patrick sighs exasperatedly. Of course, the last time Patrick slept was two days ago, but no one has to know about it. He fiddles with his outfit, anxious that his turn to perform his piece is in just a few minutes. "I'm just nervous about the recital. That's all."

"Tell that to your raccoon eyes." Brendon huffs and pushes Patrick's hands away, fixing the mess Patrick just made. "This is like your wedding all over again. Honestly."

"Hey, listen. You'll do fine. You've been practicing for this for months. You're gonna ace this." Brendon pats his back, cheering him on. "The professors are gonna love you and your piece."

Patrick peeks from the side stage, looking for familiar faces. His heart feels like it's torn into pieces when he spots none.

 _No traces of his parents, no traces of Pete's parents,_ he swallows the lump down his throat, _and no trace of Pete._

He breathes out shakily as he retreats back, sagging against the wall. Surely his parents and Pete won't ditch his recital. They know how _important_ the recital is to him. He tries to breathe again, thinking positive thoughts.

Maybe they'll show up in the middle of his performance.

"Go on," Brendon nudges his side, bringing him back to reality. "It's your turn now. Break a leg."

Patrick takes a few more deep breaths before walking onto the stage. They will come, he assures himself.

-

Patrick keeps his head down the entire time, fighting back the urge to scream and shout his anger out loud. Not only did Pete not come for his recital, but his parents didn't come either. Patrick knows he should've expected it from his parents- they've never been really supportive of his decision- but there's always been a small sliver of hope inside of him that _maybe_ his parents will change their minds.

His pulse races when he sees Pete's car in the driveway. He takes his time gathering himself before he has to face Pete. When he opens the door, his ears detect the sounds of laughter from the living room. He recognizes one as Pete, but has no clue about the other.

He closes the door quietly behind him and walks to the direction of the laughter. His jaw goes slack at the sight of Pete laughing, looking so carefree, before he tenses up again when he sees another person in the room. "I didn't know we're having a guest."

The laughter immediately dies down, and Patrick tries not to flinch when Pete regards him with cold eyes. The stranger gives him a small smile, nodding his head in greeting. "Name's Mikey. You work for Pete, right?"

Patrick's eyes are narrowed into slits at his words. _Working for Pete? He's not a servant._ "I'm not-"

"Get us a bottle wine." Pete interrupts him. Patrick tightens his grip on the strap of his bag. "Excuse me?"

"I said, get us a bottle of wine."

Patrick plants his feet on the ground, not budging. He can't believe that Pete ditched him and his recital for someone _who thought that he is Pete's servant._ His entire day sucked, and he's not going to take any shit from anyone, not even Pete. He opens his mouth to fight back, but closes it again.

If he fights back, there's no way of knowing what Pete will do to him. Pete has the upper hands. He can just pick up his phone, call his parents and tell them that Patrick got drunk and slept with someone else, and that will be the end of him.

_"Remember, you're my husband, and you're in my house. I can do anything I want to you."_

"Fine." Patrick says begrudgingly before turning on his heels.

"And you will refer to him as _Mr Way_ , is that clear?"

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek and looks away, suppressing his boiling anger.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Patrick clenches his fists and keeps his gaze down on the floor. "Yes, _sir_."

-

 _He's squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lower lip to stifle his cries. Left alone in the room like last time, stripped down to his boxers. He doesn't dare to move, doesn't even dare to_ breathe _, because if he moves so much as one inch, the_ things _inside him will move as well._

_There isn't a single voice in the room. No Pete, no Brendon. The only thing he can hear is the faint buzzing and rattling noises echoing in the room. He lets out a sob as the noises grow louder to the point they're almost deafening._

Pete, please help. Brendon, help me.

_His body trembles with each sob, and Patrick can feel them moving under his skin, stretching his skin in an attempt to escape. He braves himself to open his eyes, and wishes he can close them again._

_There are tiny bumps on his skin, all of them vibrating and moving. Patrick is frozen in his position and helpless. He opens his mouth to cry for help, but it comes out as a scream instead._

_The bumps break his skin as millions of bugs fly out, swarming and surrounding him._

-

His face is already wet with tears when he wakes up. He's too tired to get out of bed. Fatigue, even. He wants to sleep, but the nightmares keep him awake everytime. He curls up into a ball, sobbing silently to himself as he digs his fingernails into the skin of his arm and drags them down repeatedly, drawing blood to the surface.

He just wants the nightmares to be over.

-

"Patrick-"

"I'm _fine._ "

-

Days keep getting worse for Patrick. He'd find himself getting distracted in class and losing out on important notes and tips. He completely blanked out on his pop quiz- worth 10 points for his finals- and work didn't make his day any better. He mixed up orders and charged the wrong price, but the manager was kind enough to let him do cleaning duties to prevent any more slip-ups.

Even with cleaning duties, his day still sucked. Babies' vomits, spilled food and drinks, _deliberately_ spilled food and drinks. He couldn't catch a break.

He sighs as the taxi pulls up in front of Pete's house, and he pays the driver before getting out. He's worn out, his head is throbbing painfully every few seconds, and he can't wait to get to his bed and sleep until the weekend is over, nightmares or not. That's the only positive thing he can think of on a Friday.

His heart almost stops when he sees a multitude number of people on the lawn, and probably more inside the house. He scowls as he pushes his way through the bodies, trying to get inside. The throbbing he felt in his head earlier has now escalated into a migraine, and Patrick is in desperate need of peace and quiet.

He spots Pete in the living room with a group of people, chatting and laughing together, and his heart clenches when he sees a familiar face. Mr Mikey And-you-will-refer-to-him-as-Mr-Way Way.

He stalks over to the group and grabs Pete by his elbow, not really caring if they give him weird looks for it, but Pete stands rooted to his spot, snatching his arm away from Patrick's grasp.

"Why didn't you tell me you're having a fucking party?" Patrick hisses, patience rapidly running out that he doesn't even care about Pete's threat. Pete dusts his shirt and straightens up. "Grab a bottle of wine and bring it here."

Patrick stands gaping at Pete, then grits his teeth when he hears mocking laughter from the group.

"Your servant's a little too young, isn't he?"

"How can you handle having such a rude servant?"

His hands are trembling, wanting to knock those people out cold. _He's not a servant._ He keeps his anger down and stomps over to the kitchen, grabbing the most expensive bottle of wine he can find. He stares at it for a few seconds, then goes straight to his bedroom.

Screw Pete. He'll drink the expensive wine until the last drop all by himself.

-

Their last class for the day is cancelled, and since Patrick has nothing to do at Pete's house, he follows Brendon back to his apartment.

He shrugs out of his jacket and flops down on the couch, carefully placing his bag with his laptop in it on the floor. He switches on the television, absent-mindedly scratching his arm as he flicks through the channel. Brendon walks into the living room seconds later, two beers in his hand, and sits next to Patrick.

"Seriously, Patrick, your scratches have gone worse." Brendon scolds him as he inspects the raised welts on his arms. Patrick huffs and snatches his arms away. He's not going to tell Brendon about his nightmare that seems to only get progressively worse. "It's no big deal."

Brendon gives him a look of disapproval, then drags him to the bathroom. Patrick watches quietly as his friend runs water over his arms, washing them gently with soap, wondering how his friend knows how to treat injuries, which, Patrick has repeatedly said so many times before, _scratch is not an injury_. Then he remembers that Brendon has a lot of siblings, and that he's a pretty active person growing up, so he must have learned a skill or two about treating injuries. Patrick wishes he had a life like Brendon- happy and carefree and overall, _good relationship with his family._

When they're done, he goes to sit on the couch in the living room, surfing the channels again and waiting for Brendon. His forehead creases in confusion when he sees a bottle of lotion in Brendon's hand. "What's the lotion for?"

"The scratches. Your skin is probably dry from all the scratching." Brendon explains as he pours some into his hand, then rubs them over Patrick's arm.

" _Why_ do you have a lotion?" Patrick questions and sniffs at the scent. "Scented lotion. What is that? Vanilla?"

"It's my sister's. She always leaves her stuff behind when she stays here. And it's, uh-" Brendon grabs the bottle and reads the label, "-it's Warm Vanilla Sugar. Who cares?"

Brendon continues to massage his arm, and Patrick blinks at how soft Brendon's touch is, treating his arm as if it were something fragile. Considering how rough Brendon is usually, it's definitely a surprise to Patrick. "You're very gentle."

Brendon's face splits into a grin as he looks up at him, eyes glinting mischievously. "I've been told that many times, yeah."

Patrick scoffs at his remark and waits for Brendon to finish lathering his arm. They're both quiet in the room, and the television is on low volume, providing white background noise.

"Can- can you stay here for tonight? Please?"

Patrick raises his eyes to meet with Brendon's, but Brendon keeps his gaze down on his arms. If he goes back to Pete's house, he's trapped in his own room, mostly because he doesn't want to face Pete. And he might catch the nightmares again. If he stays with Brendon, though, there's a small chance of the nightmares happening. _Different environment, different dream._ "Yeah, sure."

The blinding smile he receives from Brendon lifts his mood slightly, and he smiles in return.

"You're smiling." Brendon tells him, face softening. "You don't smile much lately. I'm worried about you."

"I'm-"

"Before you say you're fine, I know you're not. I know you haven't been sleeping either. This is getting dangerous, Patrick. Not to mention unhealthy. If you're having problems, you know you can trust me, right?" Brendon finishes with a quiet voice.

Patrick sighs as he pulls his arm away, caressing the red lines on his skin. He knows Brendon has noticed his behaviour for a while, and it's only a matter of time before he brings the subject up. "It's nothing. I was just working on the songs. That's why I didn't sleep."

Brendon reaches for Patrick's other arm to rub lotion on it. Patrick watches silently as Brendon's hands knead gently on his arm. There's an air of melancholy around his friend, and Patrick finds himself musing on it. Brendon isn't the type to be gloomy or sad or even _quiet_. He's always been the loud, talkative, always smiling kind of person. There isn't supposed to be any silence between them- like now- except when they're doing their works. He snaps out of his thoughts when Brendon clears his throat.

"Patrick, I-" Brendon pauses and rubs the back of his neck, "I care about you. So, um, if you need an ear, or a shoulder, or anything, I'm here."

Stunned, Patrick can only manage a wordless nod. It's even rarer for Brendon to be a flushing, stuttering mess. Brendon coughs at the silence that follows. "Great. I'll, uh, we can- um, work on our songs? Or do you want to watch movies?"

"Movies sound nice." Patrick smiles at him, trying to get the friendly atmosphere back. "I'll pick the movies, and you'll go order something."

"Pizza?"

Patrick wrinkles his nose in disgust and throws Brendon a nasty look when he laughs. " _No._ Chinese sounds good, though."

"Know what sounds better? My cooking." Brendon beams as he moves to go to the kitchen. "I'll cook pasta. Your favourite."

Patrick doesn't call or text Pete about spending the night at Brendon's. Pete deserves that, anyway. If he can invite a guest or throw a party without telling him beforehand, then Patrick sure as hell can stay the night without telling Pete.

-

_His skin continues to pop as more bugs fly out, buzzing loudly. No matter how loud Patrick screams, the buzzing completely drowns out his voice._

_"Do you need help?" Pete's voice echoes in the darkness. Patrick almost cries out of gratitude. He opens his mouth to reply._ "I don't need help!"

_Patrick's eyes go wide, jaw dropped open. That's not what he's going to say. That's completely opposite to what he's going to say. He tries to call for Pete back, but Pete has already gone._

_"Patrick, I just want to help you." Brendon._

"I thought I told you to leave me alone! I don't need any help!"

_Patrick screams again, begging for them to come back, but is only met with the buzzing sounds._

-

"Hey, mom." Patrick sighs into his phone. Even though he lives to please his parents, but there are times when he just dreads talking to them. Today is one of those times. He's been awake for more than 24 hours now, and his head feels like someone is squeezing it like one would to a squishy ball.

_"How's Pete? Are you guys doing good?"_

He reaches for his nightstand drawer and takes out a bottle aspirin, swallowing one before replying to his mother. It's always been like that. His mother would call him, and the first thing she'd ask is how Pete is, not her own son. "He's fine. We're good."

_"That's great to hear! We're coming by to visit you guys this weekend! Pete's parents are coming too."_

"Great. Can't wait to see you guys." His answers are just automatic by this point. He tosses his phone on the bed and drags his feet to the living room, where Pete probably is right now. His fear of confronting Pete has long gone since he's resigned to his nightmares. Part of it, Patrick thinks, is probably due to his constant headache and his lack of sleep, which significantly reduce his tolerance level to Pete's bitchiness.

"Our parents are coming this weekend." Patrick tells him before turning around to the kitchen for his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. He has already lost count after the fifth. Lately he finds himself needing more cups just to stay awake.

"Patrick, wait."

That's unexpected. Pete has never initiated anything since the night Patrick got drunk. Patrick looks at Pete from over his shoulder, eyebrow raised in question at Pete's expression. If he doesn't know any better, he'd say that Pete actually looks worried.

When Pete takes too long to answer, Patrick leaves the room and heads to the kitchen, preparing himself a new batch of coffee. Whatever. At least he's passed the message to Pete.

-

They have divided chores the next day. Pete is to clean the bathrooms, and Patrick the living room. The dull pain in Patrick's head slows his progress down, and Pete has already finished his part of the chores.

"Let me help." Pete offers, stepping closer to take the mop from Patrick's hands. "You can go rest."

Patrick grits his teeth in frustration. He doesn't have the time to deal with Pete. He only got five hours of sleep for the past three days, and Pete is really ticking him off. "Just give me the damn mop. You can find somewhere else to clean."

They fight for the mop, both keeping their grips tight on the item. Patrick refuses to let go, since he doesn't have the energy to go anywhere else. As they're fighting, Pete's elbow pushes him, causing his foot to slip on the wet floor.

His forehead bangs against the corner of the glass coffee table as he falls. He groans in pain and attempts to sit up, one hand gripping the table for purchase. He can hear Pete's worried voice, but it sounds distant to his ears.

He freezes when he feels thick, warm liquid slowly trickle down his face. With trembling hands, he wipes the liquid away, almost fainting when he sees the familiar crimson colour. His chest tightens, and he finds himself hard to breathe. His head is bleeding. _His head is bleeding._

He can also feel tiny shards of glass on the fresh wound, and he glances at the floor to see that the glass corner of the table is broken into pieces, his blood smeared on the pieces and the floor.

"Oh- oh God, P- Patrick." Pete stutters as he wraps an arm around Patrick's waist, helping him up. "Come on, let's get you to the hospital."

Patrick can't remember what happens after that, but when he's finally aware of his surroundings, he's already at the hospital, in a room with a doctor and Pete by his side.

The doctor is talking to Pete, but Patrick can't take his eyes off of his blood-stained shirt. The wound hasn't stopped bleeding since Pete made him hold a cloth over it, and now the blood keeps dripping down his chin.

"-stitches."

"What?" Patrick snaps out of his stupor and glances up at the doctor, a chill running down his spine.

The doctor hums as he inspects the wound closer. "You're going to need stitches for your injury since it won't stop bleeding. Don't worry though, the wound doesn't need much. Just a couple."

He stays still throughout the entire procedure, wanting everything to be over and done with as quick as possible. Pete places a hand over his as a sign of comfort, but Patrick quickly pulls his hand away.

"I- I'm sorry, Patrick. I didn't mean to push you." Pete breaks the silence between them on their way home. Patrick ignores him in favour of looking out the window, hand idly tracing over the stitches on his head.

If Pete thinks he can get away with a simple apology, then he's dead wrong.

-

The wound on his head only serves to make Patrick's headache even more painful. He clutches the side of his head as he steps out of Pete's car. He can't wait to get to his room and get his hands on a handful of aspirin. _His head is killing him._

The world spins in his eyes when he stands up, but he manages to balance himself from falling for the second time that day. Pete is by his side in an instant, sliding his arm around Patrick's waist to hold him upright. Patrick grits his teeth and shoves Pete away, one hand still clutching his throbbing head, and walks to the front door.

His hands are shaking by the time he tries to insert the key into the hole. After multiple failed attempts, he begins rattling on the knob, cursing under his breath. Pete comes up next to him, unlocking the door and holding the door open for him. Patrick enters and heads straight to the kitchen without batting an eyelash to Pete.

He grabs a bottle of water and a beer from the fridge, drinking the latter first. He sighs at the relief the beer gives him and turns around to go to his room.

"Are you sure you should be drinking beer at this time of day?" Pete asks, voice tinged with concern. "Especially when you seem to be having a headache."

Patrick snorts to himself as he ignores Pete once again. He doesn't need people tell him what to do. He knows how to take care of himself.

-

Their parents are arriving in a few minutes, and both of them are preparing for their arrival. Pete is cleaning up in the living room, making sure that the blood on the coffee table and the floor is wiped clean, while Patrick is in the kitchen, making drinks.

He stretches on his toes, trying to grab the container with coffee beans, but his fingers barely reached the top shelf. He grabs a bar stool and climbs on top of it, a little shaky.

He blows his hair away from his face and peeks into the shelf, looking for the coffee beans. He tips on his toes, able to reach for the beans, when the stool teeters under his weight and causes him to fall to the floor with a crash.

He bites his lip to stifle a groan of pain. The fall must've been loud, since Pete is dashing into the kitchen with a worried cry of his name.

"Shit- can you get up?" Pete crouches down beside him and helps him to get up. But as soon as Patrick is on his feet, he cries out in pain.

 _Great._ As if the stitches isn't enough, now he has a sprained ankle to boot.

Pete notices the problem and ushers him to sit down. "Don't worry. I'll prepare the drinks."

The sound of the doorbell ringing catches their attention, and Pete helps to carry Patrick to the living room before opening the door. Patrick isn't that much thrilled about seeing his family, but he puts on a smile anyway as they walk into the living room.

"Oh, Patrick, what happened to your forehead?" Pete's mother peers over him, staring at the stitches. "Are you okay?"

Patrick waves her off, reassuring her that it's only a small wound and nothing serious.

"Well, Patrick has always been a little bit of a klutz."

Patrick clenches his fist to keep calm. In just under a minute, his family is already getting on his nerves. He needs to get away from them before he blows up. "I'll get the drinks ready." He mumbles before standing up, wobbling slightly on his feet, and makes his way to the kitchen.

"Someone had a good time last night, huh?" His brother jokes, and everyone in the room erupts into fits of laughter. Patrick's body goes rigid at their laughter, pulse starting to race.

He catches Pete glancing at him nervously from the corner of his eyes. "It- it's not like that. We didn't-" Pete tries to get a word in-between their laughter, but is ignored by everyone.

"Guys- we didn't-"

Patrick can't hold it any longer as rage takes over him. All those years of pent-up frustration and anger finally explode, forcing their way out.

"I'm glad my life is just one big joke to you." Patrick bristles, body temperature rising. The whole room turns dead silent, then his brother opens his mouth. "Don't you think you're a little overreacting? It's just a joke. Chill."

"Well, I'm sorry that I sprained my ankle! I'm sorry that I overreact! I'm sorry that I can't take a joke! I'm sorry that everything seems to be my fault! I'm sorry for having feelings! And, you know what? _I'm sorry for existing in the first place!_ "

He stops to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down in quick motion. His ears are pounding, and Patrick resists the urge to smash the nearby vase to the floor by clenching his fists. It's still not enough. Every ounce of resentment he's been keeping inside hasn't reduced a single bit from his previous outburst.

"Patrick…"

At the sound of Pete's voice, Patrick spins around to face him, his vision turning cloudy. "And I'm sorry I got drunk that night! I'm sorry that I'm dirty! I'm sorry that everything I ever did will never be enough to get your forgiveness!"

"Don't touch me!" Patrick lashes out when Pete reaches out for him, and shoves Pete with such force that causes the older man to stumble backwards. Patrick turns on his heels and walks to the door, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain on his ankle every time he takes a step.

He can feel hot tears burning the back of his eyes, but he tries to keep them in, at least until he can get away from everyone. He's almost to the door, just a few steps left when his ankle can't handle the strain any longer, leaving him sprawling down on the floor, a loud thump echoing in the silent and tense-filled atmosphere.

"Patrick!"

The humiliation is enough for his eyes to start leaking tears. He can hear the sound of Pete's footsteps approaching him. A single tear falls down his cheek, and he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent anymore from falling, but fails. Then there's a pair of arms around him, trying to help him up.

"Get off of me!"

Patrick doesn't even flinch when he throws a punch to Pete's jaw. He doesn't even flinch when every pair of eyes stare shockingly at him or the fact that he has Pete's blood on his knuckles. He grits his teeth and narrows his eyes. "Don't _ever_ come near me."

Shoving Pete's arm away, he makes an attempt to stand up by himself and directs his glare to everyone in the room, his vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. "I'm leaving. Tell me I overreact or whatever, but I'm done with everything. I'm done being treated like I'm some- some _being_ that doesn't have feelings!"

He pauses to rub his eyes with the heel of his palm. When he speaks again, his voice starts to quiver. "I'm tired. I'm done pretending. All my life, I didn't ask much. I just wanted to do my own thing. I wanted my own family to support my decision."

His cheeks are wet with tears now, voice cracking, but he perseveres. "I've done everything you asked me to, no matter how much I hated it. Why can't you do something for me once? The recital was important me, but no one came. Don't I deserve to be happy too? If- if you hate me that much, just tell me. I can handle it."

He stifles down a sob and calms himself down, then locks his gaze with Pete's. "I get it if you want a divorce, so you can do whatever you want. Just one thing I beg of you," Patrick's throat tightens, "please don't come find me unless you want me to sign divorce papers. And that goes to all of you. Don't find me, _please._ "

Everyone is left speechless with Patrick's outburst, even his parents and his brother. Patrick really doesn't care if he hurts their feelings, all he cares is to get out of the house as soon as possible.

Without so much as a glance to Pete and their families, he turns around and walks out the door.

-

Patrick walks along the streets with a limp, shivering under the cold rain pouring over him. He doesn't know how long he's been walking since he left the house, and his sprained ankle is getting worse by the second. He quickens his pace when he sees a shop with an awning and takes shelter under it.

Once he's finally covered from the rain, he breathes into his hands, making them warm. No one else is on the street but him- considering how heavy the rain is, and he left his phone back at the house, together with his jacket. He wraps his arms around himself and tries to keep himself warm.

Everything was supposed to go fine. Their parents would come to check up on them, and Patrick and Pete would pretend everything was fine until they leave, then they would go back to how they were before.

He remembers clearly the expressions on everyone's faces. Their eyes wide, mouth hanging open. And Pete. He remembers Pete's expression the most, especially after he punched him. Pete actually looked hurt- be it either from the physical punch or verbal punch, Patrick doesn't care.

He's tired of having to take care of people's feelings anymore.

Thunder rolls across the sky, followed by a flash of lightning. Patrick closes his eyes and places his hands over his ears, simultaneously blocking the noises and the light out. The wind picks up in speed and splatters rainwater all over him.

Cold, scared, and alone. But Patrick still wouldn't trade them for the life he had back at Pete's house, or the previous 23 years of his life, for that matter.

"Excuse me? Are you okay?"

Patrick raises his head to see a worried-looking lady in front of him, standing under an umbrella, even though the umbrella is completely moot at this point of weather. "Y- Yeah." His teeth clatter from the cold, making him stammer.

"Are you stuck here alone? Do you need a lift?"

He ponders on her question. A place comes into his mind, and he looks at the woman. "A- Are you sure?"

"Well, I'm not going to leave you here all alone," the woman smiles comfortingly. "My car's just down this block. Come on."

Patrick follows the woman to her car. He's way past feeling ashamed when the woman has to slow her stride down, waiting for him to catch up with her with his limp.

And as Patrick ducks to get into her car, he completely misses Pete's car speeding by.

-

Patrick sits under the shower with his knees pulled up, letting the hot stream of water pour over him. His wet clothes cling to his skin as he stares blankly at the ring on his finger.

He thought he could handle it when their parents came for a visit. He pulled himself together and put on a brave face, but crashed and burned in the end. He never meant to spill everything to his family, but as he recalls their expressions, he's glad that he did it.

He's free now, no longer tied to his family. The day when he fell and knocked his head on the edge of the table floods his mind, and he brushes his fingers over where he had the wound. _He had to get stitches for it._

He grits his teeth and takes out the ring, throwing it to the wall. His chest heaves in anger as the ring falls with clanking sounds.

_He's no longer tied to Pete either._

A new wave of anger surges through his veins and settles deep under his skin, as if replacing his old ones. He's not going to let anyone walk over him now. He'll fight anyone who dares to.

He turns off the shower when Brendon walks in with a towel in his hand. "Clean up. I'll order something for us tonight. Do you want a drink?"

Patrick takes the towel Brendon handed to him and drapes it on top of his head, but doesn't make any motion to dry his hair. "Do you have whiskey?"

-

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brendon asks as he takes a bottle of whiskey out, pouring one for himself, and one for Patrick.

"No." Patrick mumbles, swirling the glass. "Can I stay here? I don't want to go back."

"Are you kidding me?"

Patrick looks up at Brendon's voice of disbelief. Brendon's face breaks into a huge grin, and he looks like he's bouncing on his feet. "It'll be like old times! You, me, assignments, late night movies."

"Okay, okay, sorry. That was inappropriate." Brendon apologizes, but the grin is still on his face. Patrick raises an eyebrow at him in amusement and drinks the liquor. "It's not. That was just what I needed. Something to distract me."

"But, seriously though, can I stay here? I'll pay half the rent and bill." Patrick offers. They both would save more money that way.

"Of course." Brendon fills their glasses. "Good thing you left your laptop here, huh? I think you still have some of your clothes here, too."

Patrick could not be more thankful that he left his laptop at Brendon's place. He wouldn't want to sneak back to Pete's house to get his laptop. He wouldn't want to go back to Pete's house _ever_. The only thing that matters is that Patrick has his wallet, laptop, clothes…

"I left my phone at his house." Patrick sighs and cards his finger through his hair. He shoots Brendon a quizzical look when he chuckles. "I have an old phone that can still be used. You can just buy a new number."

Patrick doesn't know whether that day was his worst day ever or luckiest day ever. Everything falls apart, yet comes together at the same time.

"You're like, a fairy godmother or something." Patrick comments as he takes the bottle from Brendon's hand. "A four-leaf clover shit."

"I'm a fucking knight in the shining armour for your damsel-in-distress ass."

-

"Did you know that your mother has been calling me?" Brendon asks one night. The tip of the pencil Patrick's holding snaps when Brendon mentions his mother. "Yeah? What did she want?"

"She's just asking for you." Brendon replies, shrugging. "Probably misses you."

 _Hardly._ "What did you say?"

"That you're fine. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone where you are." Brendon sticks his tongue out and pokes Patrick on the cheek, earning him a grunt. Patrick looks up at his friend, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Brendon, thank you."

"I promised, didn't I?" Brendon slings his arm around Patrick's shoulder. "For better, for worse, I'd be there for you."

Patrick bites his lip, holding back a grin. "For richer, for poorer?"

Brendon barks out a laugh and rests his head on top of Patrick's. "For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health," his voice softens to a whisper, "to love and to cherish. Till death do us part. And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness."

"I can't believe you memorize those." Patrick glances up at him, smiling and shoving Brendon away playfully before he continues writing down his lyrics from where he left off earlier. "I forgot them as soon as the ceremony was over."

"That's because I speak from my heart." Brendon scoffs in return, shoving Patrick back. "I don't need to memorize shit."

"Could you not? I'm writing here." Patrick scoots away, eyes fixed on the paper in his lap.

"Can I take a look at it?"

"Hold on…" He scribbles for a little while and hands Brendon the lyrics sheet, then drinks his beer, downing what's left of it in one go. While Brendon is still reading the lyrics, he taps out a rhythm on his knee. He pretends he doesn't notice Brendon's sympathetic look. He has a good clue as to what causes Brendon to give him such look anyway.

_They got the search party looking for the ghost of the child_  
_But what if he grew up?_  
_He never died._

-

It has been a routine for them every night since Patrick stays at Brendon's place- sitting in the living room and working on their songs, drinking, unwinding after a long day.

"How's your project going along?"

Patrick hums as he scribbles down some lines and notes before answering his friend. "Finished two songs. I've got the melody ready for the last one. Just needed to brush up on the lyrics. What about you?"

"Same. I'm meeting Dallon tomorrow. He's been helping me with some of the lyrics." Brendon answers, strumming his guitar a few times and jolting down the notes on a piece of paper.

The name sounds familiar to Patrick's ears, but the face a little too fuzzy. "Is he a performing student? I don't think I've seen him in any of our composition classes before."

"Yeah." Brendon looks at him and grins, raising his hand. " _Yay_ tall."

Patrick laughs at his friend's stories of Dallon, and he can feel pain in his sides from laughing too hard when Brendon starts to imitate Dallon.

"-and he was like, _'Brendon, could you didgeri-don't?'_ "

He can't remember the last time he laughed as hard as he is at the moment, but he can feel his problems melt away for a while. He rubs his eyes for any tears while his laughter dies down, and flushes when he notices Brendon staring at him. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, nothing." Brendon smiles, grabbing a slice of pizza and shoving it into his mouth. "Hey, come on, eat with me. You haven't eaten anything the whole day. Or yesterday, for that matter."

Patrick scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. "I don't feel like eating.

The last time he ate, he threw up like hell. The same thing happened each time he eats. He'd end up vomiting a few hours later. Patrick notices the drop in his weight in the last few days, but can't do anything about it, especially when he seems to have lost his appetite.

"You sure you don't want to go to the doctor?" Brendon looks at his worriedly. "It sounds pretty serious."

"I'm sure. Don't worry about it." Patrick sighs as he leans to get the whiskey on the table. They settle into silence after that, neither talk the entire time they're doing their work. Brendon strums his guitar every few minutes, and Patrick plugs in his headphones and pieces the last notes on GarageBand.

He sets aside his laptop an hour later, and stretches on the couch. Brendon is still working on his song, so Patrick decides to just keep him company for a while. He grabs the whiskey bottle and pours a shot for himself, again and again.

"You should've stopped the marriage, Bren. I was counting on you to say something," Patrick mumbles when he finally has that welcoming buz in his head, and pours himself another shot.

"Yeah?" Brendon glances at him before returning to his guitar. "I knew it. You wanted to marry me, huh?"

Patrick huffs out a laugh and slouches on the couch, closing his eyes. "At least you can put an end to my misery."

He nudges Brendon on the side, asking him to hand the lyrics to him. His muscles feel too sore to move at the moment.

"You know, Bren, I regret drinking that night."

When he turns to see why Brendon is quiet, he notices a far-off look in Brendon's eyes, which disappears quickly into something unreadable.

"Do you regret what we did?" Brendon asks quietly, a mixture of emotions in his eyes. Patrick looks back to his lyrics and shrugs. "I regret everything that's been happening in my life."

-

A deep frown mars Patrick's face when a familiar figure enters his vision. Pete is sitting on one of the empty tables on his faculty ground, waiting for him, Patrick assumes. And that's the only route to get to his next class, so he has no choice but to walk through it.

He tightens his grip on his bag and walks past Pete, only stopping when Pete grabs his wrist. "Patrick, wait."

His body stiffens, and he wriggles his hand free. "I have class."

"This won't take long." Pete pulls him to the seat opposite him, and Patrick sits begrudgingly. He notices Pete isn't carrying anything. "I don't see any divorce papers in your hand."

"You look tired. Do you have enough sleep?"

Patrick scowls at the change of topic. "Why are you really here, Pete?"

"Patrick, I know a simple apology isn't enough, but-"

"It isn't." Patrick cuts him off, seething.

Pete, undeterred by Patrick's interruption, continues. "Look, everyone was really sad about what happened, especially our mothers, but-"

Patrick makes a noise at the back of his throat, interrupting Pete once again. "If you say that I should apologize and give them a chance, then you might as well save your breath. I'm leaving."

He stands up from his seat, swinging his bag and leaving the area. His head is back to feeling heavy, pressure crushing from every side. He fishes around for aspirin in his bag and swallows one.

"Patrick, wait. Stay for a minute."

Pete grabs his wrist again, and Patrick grits his teeth in frustration. Just two more weeks until all his classes over, then Pete has no way of finding him again.

"I understand if you're angry at me, but please don't take it out on them." Pete says softly, almost pleading. "Do you know how much in pain they are?"

The words set something off within Patrick. _Is Pete implying that Patrick is at fault for hurting them?_ He wrenches his hand away and fists his hand in Pete's collar, pulling him close. "Do you know how much in pain _I_ am? What I did back at your house was _nothing_ compared to what _they_ put me through all those years." Patrick's voice shakes in fury. "I'm not the least sorry for my behaviour."

He shoves Pete away and straightens his back, eyes narrowed and flinty. "They're not the victims here. So, stop defending them."

If he weren't so furious, Patrick would have taken delight at how Pete is looking at the moment- mouth falling open, eyes bulging in shock. Figuring that that's enough to get his message across, he leaves before Pete can stop him again.

One aspirin is definitely not enough for his headache. He's going to need one or two beers.

-

"Brendon." Patrick calls out to his friend and leans into his side, humming when he feels Brendon's fingers in his hair. A dull buzz in his head makes him giggle, happy. "What is it this time, Stumpy? Father Urie is ready to hear your confession."

Patrick laughs softly under his breath and closes his eyes. "Brendon, I think I'm in love with you."

_One. Two. Three. Four._

The hand in his hair stills. The room is silent, and Patrick can feel Brendon's body goes taut under him. Patrick taps on his knee, following the rhythm in his head to chase the silence away.

"Do you know what you're talking about, Patrick?"

Patrick hums again, smiling. "I'm not that drunk, Bren, if that's what you're implying."

_One. Two. Three. Four._  
_One. Two. Three. Four._  
_One. Two. Three. Four._

He taps again to the rhythm in his head. He can hear the melody forming, flowing smoothly, and his fingers are itching to write them down. When Brendon doesn't say anything, his body still tense, Patrick finally bursts into laughter, breaking the silence and the rhythm he has in his head.

"I was just kidding. Don't take it seriously, Bren." He says after he calms down enough, then leans forward to grab the bottle of whiskey. "Love doesn't exist."

Brendon's quiet from behind him. Patrick pours some of the whiskey into his glass and drinks it. "I thought that, maybe, one day, Pete and I will be happy and fall in love and all that shit in movies, y'know? They say love makes everything better." Patrick pauses to take a shot, then continues. "But look where it got me."

He drinks another and sighs before sobering up, whispering, "Do me a favour, Bren."

"What is it?"

"Never fall in love," Patrick mumbles. "The pain isn't worth it."

"That's what makes it special, don't you think? You'll learn to cherish everything even more," Brendon tells him. Patrick doesn't know what expression Brendon has at the moment, but he sounds wistful.

Patrick stares at the amber liquid in the glass, swirling and watching as the liquid spills a little on his hand. "Do you love someone, Brendon? You sound like you do."

"Everyone has someone to love."

"You're beating around the bush again, Bren." Patrick ignores the buzz in his head as he continues to drink. "Are you happy with her? Him?"

He smiles when Brendon doesn't answer him. "See? Love hurts, Bren. Spare yourself the pain."

"That doesn't mean I'll stop loving, though."

"You're a noble man, Brendon Urie." Patrick leans back into the couch and lets out a yawn, closing his eyes. "Wish I'd found someone like you before I got dragged into this whole marriage thing."

-

"I met Pete today."

Patrick gives Brendon a disinterested hum. He shuffles along the kitchen, raiding the fridge for something to drink. He thinks he has some beer left, but makes a mental note to get some on his way back from class tomorrow.

"Met him at a cafe, talked for a couple of minutes." Brendon continues, standing near the archway. "Gave him your phone number."

Patrick stiffens, then closes the fridge slowly before turning around to face Brendon. "You _what?_ "

"Gave him your phone number." Brendon repeats himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest and keeping a stern look. He's saying something else at the moment, but Patrick has already stopped listening to him. _Gave Pete his phone number?_

His hands curl into fists, clenched so tight the fingernails are digging into his skin. _Who gave Brendon the right to give his phone number to Pete?_

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Patrick explodes as he strides over to Brendon, shoving him roughly to the wall. Brendon lets out a cry of pain, but Patrick continues with his rage. "What the fuck, Brendon?! Why would you tell him my number?!"

"Patrick, you need to talk to him. You've been-"

Patrick brings his hands on Brendon's collars and tightens his grip, causing Brendon to choke for air. "That's none of your damn business! I can take care of myself!"

"Take a look at yourself, Patrick!" Brendon fights back as he bats Patrick's hands away. "You're literally just skin and bones! You're not even taking care of yourself right now! The only thing you're taking care of is your money so you can feed your fucking addict-"

Patrick throws a punch across Brendon's jaw before he can finish his sentence. Brendon's head is tilted to the side, and Patrick breathes heavily, clenching his fists. "Go to hell, Urie. I don't have an addiction."

Brendon wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth and glares at Patrick. "You're just mad because nothing's going your way. You keep your feelings inside, expect people to understand you, then when you've had enough, you take them out on others. Grow the fuck up."

Each word spitting out of Brendon's mouth only makes Patrick's rage boil even more. "You know what?" Patrick hardens his gaze and pins Brendon to the wall, hissing, "keeping everything bottled up inside is one mistake, trusting _you_ is another."

Brendon's face falters at Patrick's words, sad and hurt. "Patrick…"

Patrick turns his back to Brendon and walks to the door. He can't wait to get out of the place and grab something to drink.

"Patrick, you- you don't actually mean that, do you…?"

Alcohol. He needs alcohol in his system. His hands start to shake in tremor by his sides. He wipes his sweaty palm on his jeans and shoves his hands into the pockets, hoping the trembling will stop. _God, when was the last time he had a drink?_

"Patrick, where are you going?"

He slams the door shut without replying anything to Brendon and makes his way to the nearest liquor store.

-

Patrick's shoulders are hunched in pain when he walks around the drugstore, browsing for antacids. His gastric has gotten worse over the past few days, and it doesn't help that he's lost his appetite either.

He pays for the medicine and trudges back to his old apartment. He knew it was a good idea to ask the landlord to keep one vacant. What makes it even better is that it's on a different floor than his last one, so there's no way Pete or Brendon can find him. He should've gone to his apartment instead of Brendon's in the first place.

Once he's inside his apartment, he lies down on the couch and curls up into a foetal position, hoping the pain will cease. He's skipping all his classes today, since his gastric won't go away anytime soon. Besides, he's never skipped his classes before, so one time won't hurt his attendance record.

His phone rings from his pocket, and he already knows who's calling him. There's no one else who knows his phone number except for Brendon. _And Pete._

He waits until the ringing dies before taking his phone out. There are more than twenty missed calls and several unread messages. The missed calls came from two numbers, Brendon and an unknown number. Pete's, definitely.

He deletes everything from his call log and checks his messages.

_From: Brendon_  
_21:09:22_  
_Patrick, I'm sorry. I didn't mean a single word I said. Come back, please? I've cooked your favourite pasta. You won't let me eat alone, will you?_

_From: Brendon_  
_22:35:10_  
_The pasta is sad because you won't eat it :(_

_From: Brendon_  
_22:58:45_  
_I'm scared of the dark. Please come back and check the monsters under my bed? :(_

_From: Brendon_  
_23:11:00_  
_Patrick, I know I can't take back the words I've said. I've never regretted anything so much in my life, but please come back. I'm worried about you._

_From: Brendon_  
_23:47:09_  
_It's almost midnight, Patrick. I'll leave the door unlock. Please just come back._

_From: Brendon_  
_00:37:28_  
_I'm still waiting for you to come back, just so you know._

_From: Brendon_  
_01:20:44_  
_I'm still awake. What about you?_

_From: Brendon_  
_02:13:56_  
_If you come back, I promise I'll do anything you ask me to._

_From: Brendon_  
_03:05:20_  
_Patrick, where are you?_

_From: Brendon_  
_04:10:18_  
_Wherever you are right now, please be careful._

_From: Brendon_  
_05:00:34_  
_I really fucked up, didn't I?_

_From: Brendon_  
_06:12:10_  
_I guess I'll see you at class, then…_

_From: Brendon_  
_07:35:30_  
_I bought you Starbucks! See you at 8!_

_From: Brendon_  
_08:40:27_  
_Patrick, where are you?_

He turns off his phone and drops it to the floor, anger bubbling up in his chest. He doesn't need a snitch like Brendon in his life.

-

Just like him, Patrick knows Brendon also has to work to pay his rent. While Brendon works in shifts during weekdays, on weekend, he's working the whole day. That gives Patrick more than enough time to get his stuff back from Brendon's place.

Patrick packs up his clothes, stuffing them into his old duffel bag that he lent to Brendon a couple of years back. When he's done, he grabs his laptop and double checks for any stuff he'd left behind, then drops Brendon's spare key in plain sight before leaving the place.

Three more weeks until the semester over. Then he doesn't have to see Brendon again.

-

Patrick is thankful that the cafe is not packed like usual that day. Partly, he thinks, is probably because the semester is already over, and most students have gone back home. It wasn't hard for Patrick to avoid Brendon during the three weeks left of their semester. He came to class just a little bit late- the professors never minded anwyay- and was the first one to get out of the class.

His phone has been ringing non-stop from Brendon and Pete, so Patrick turns off his phone from time to time. They should just take the hint already.

He slides down the counter, doubling over on the floor, as his stomach churns painfully. He presses hard and down on his stomach, willing for the pain to go away.

"Patrick, are you okay?" A co-worker asks him. Patrick winces at the pain before nodding, taking a sharp intake of breath when he tries to stand up. "I'm fine."

He turns around to face the counter when his co-worker mentions there's a customer. "Hi, what can I-" he hisses in pain, "-what can I get you today?"

"Patrick…"

He looks up at the mention of his name, surprised when he sees Brendon. He quickly masks his expression and puts on his polite face. "What can I get you?"

"Patrick, I'm really sorry about the other day." Brendon says, looking apologetic. "I didn't- I didn't mean to say that. I was just-"

The rest of Brendon's words fall onto deaf ears. The pain Patrick felt minutes earlier intensifies to an excruciating level, and his face twists in pain as he bends over the counter, whimpering.

"Patrick! Oh, fuck, Patrick-"

He can feel pressure building in his stomach, and he leaves the counter, covering his mouth and running to the restroom as fast he can. He doesn't notice Brendon or his co-workers following after him.

He bends over the sink, feeling the pressure move up his stomach and his throat. The only sound that is heard in the restroom is him retching. Patrick closes his eyes as he continues to throw up, legs trembling. Someone is holding him up, and once Patrick's done, he finally leans back into the pair of arms, unconscious.

-

Patrick immediately squeezes his eyes closed as a bright light hit his eyes, groaning. He can hear people talking in hushed voices around him.

"Mr Stumph, are you awake?"

He opens his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light. He catches the sight of a doctor standing at the foot of his bed, a clipboard in his hand. When his vision becomes clear, he finally notices the extra presence in the room.

His parents. Pete's parents. Brendon. Pete.

"Why am I in the hospital?" He croaks out, throat dry, and tries to sit up. Pete rushes next to him, helping him to get in position, but Patrick just ignores him. He takes the glass of water Brendon hands him and drinks it in one go.

"I'm Dr Joe Trohman, but you can call me Joe, or Dr Trohman, whichever you prefer. You were admitted to the hospital two days ago." The doctor, Joe, explains. Patrick's brows shoot up into his hairline in surprise. _Two days?_

"Now, what's the last thing you remember?" Joe asks him.

Patrick looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them repeatedly. "I remember I was at work. What happened?"

Joe regards him with a look, then glances down at his clipboard. "Your friend mentioned you were vomiting blood before you fainted at your workplace. Good thing he brought you here in time-"

It's like one surprise after another. First, he found out he was unconscious for two days, and now he vomited _blood?_

"-and after some tests, we found that you are diagnosed with gastric ulcer. Do you have any troubles eating before? Loss of appetite?"

Patrick closes his eyes and sighs. He remembers all the night when he'd eat the food Pete bought him or the snacks he made himself or the dinner at Brendon's every night, and having a strong stomach ache after and vomiting. Even when he skipped meals so he could avoid it from happening again, he still felt pain. Antacids didn't help much, either. "Yeah. But how did I get ulcer?"

"We've ruled out infection, since we didn't find any bacteria in your blood. However," Joe's voice turns serious, and it almost makes Patrick nervous. "Do you take painkillers?"

"You mean aspirin? Everybody does." Patrick frowns at his question.

"How often do you take them?"

Patrick blinks. When he thinks about it, he does take aspirin almost everyday- his frequent headache and hungover leave him with no choice. "Pretty often, I guess."

"Excessive intake of NSAIDs- aspirin, for example- is one of the main causes for gastric ulcer, Mr Stumph."

"Surely not to the point he fainted though, right?" Pete interjects. Patrick looks up at the doctor, curious as to why he fainted. Joe shakes his head and sighs. "He only fainted from sleep deprivation."

Who can blame him? He had that terrible nightmare almost every night, and even though the nightmare had gone away, he's already used to having less than six hours of sleep in the span of three days.

"What happened to you, Patrick? You were such a good kid." His mother sobs as the other keeps quiet. "Where did we go wrong with you?"

Patrick fists his hands in the sheets when his father and his brother join in reprimanding him about his behaviour. Why can't they just leave him alone? He already made it explicitly clear that he didn't want to see any of them again. He's content to be on his own, even without Brendon- the fucking _traitor_ , he growls inside.

Now, his parents and his brother are yapping at him, in front of Pete and his parents, Brendon, _and_ the doctor. As if the humiliation isn't enough. _Leave me alone. Go the fuck away. Shut up. I don't want to hear anything. You're the reason I became like this._

He snaps out of his stupor when he feels a hand on his. He looks down at his hands; both of them shaking in tremor. He trails his gaze to the third hand, along the arm and shoulder, and finally meets Brendon's gaze.

"Let it out."

Brendon's sudden voice causes the room to fall into complete silence, and everyone turns their heads to look at him. Patrick narrows his eyes- a silent dare for Brendon to say what he has to say.

"You're holding everything in again. You can say anything, lash out, or hit me again if you want to. Just don't keep your feelings inside again," Brendon says with a pleading tone in his voice. "Let everything out."

"I'm fine." Patrick spits out after getting over his shock at Brendon's little intervention and swats Brendon's hand away. His hands are still shaking, and sweat is beginning to form on his forehead and his neck. _Has the room always been this hot?_ He looks to the window and finds it open, curtain swaying gently to the breeze.

He casts his gaze back to his hands, willing them to stop shaking. _Why won't they stay still?_ He can hear distant voices- talking, shouting, murmuring- getting progressively louder and louder and _louder_ and-

"Patrick!"

The two hands on each side of his face bring him back to reality, and he finds himself face-to-face with a worried Pete. "Hey, breathe, okay?"

Patrick hears what Pete is saying, but can't bring himself to follow the instruction. The room starts to spin, turning everything and everyone into one huge and distorted image, and it keeps spinning around until he starts to feel something build up from his stomach.

"B- Bucket." He croaks out. Joe is the first to move, grabbing a small bin from a drawer and handing it to Patrick. Patrick takes the item in his shaky hands- _why won't they stop shaking?!_ \- and expels everything in his stomach into the bin.

He feels a hand rubbing his back, and another pair of hands helping him to hold the bucket as he continues to throw up. When he's sure there's nothing left to be expelled, he pants lightly and slumps forward, tired.

The bucket is taken away from him, and he accepts the tissue handed to him. He wipes his mouth and drops his hands to his lap, cursing when they're still shaking, but not too violently like before.

"Are you okay?" Brendon's voice comes from behind him.

"Fine."

"Patrick." Pete's voice is coming from next to him, and Patrick glances to see that Pete is setting the bin down on the floor. "Are you sure?"

"I'm _fine_." Patrick grits his teeth. He refuses to look at any one of them. They're probably looking at him in pity or disgust. If they're ashamed of him, then they should've left the room, not stay with him. Let him rot to death with his stupid ulcer in the godforsaken hospital.

"Mr Stumph." Patrick looks up when Joe calls his name. An uneasy feeling settles within him at his unreadable expression.

"Mr Stumph, I'm going to have to perform a few tests on you."

-

"Have you slept, Mr Stumph?"

Patrick grunts and cocks his head to see Joe stroll into the room with a clipboard in his hand. His curiosity peaks, wondering what the result of his blood test is.

"He wouldn't sleep." Pete raises an eyebrow at him, to which Patrick pointedly ignores. "And he wouldn't eat his lunch."

Patrick frowns and decides to keep quiet. He wants to say that he doesn't have any appetite, but answering would only mean that he's acknowledging Pete and everyone in the room. From his peripheral vision, he sees Pete's parents sitting by his bedside, and his own parents across the room. He snorts to himself. Funny how someone else's parents are more caring and worried about him than his own.

"Did you get the result?" Brendon asks. Everyone's eyes fall on the doctor, even Patrick himself. He swallows and hopes that his face doesn't show how anxious he is.

Joe stands in front of his bed, clearing his throat. "Mr Stumph, I need you to answer a few questions. Is that okay?"

Patrick nods quietly. He can feel Brendon's hand on his back again, Pete's hand on his right, and Dale's on his left, squeezing his hands. _Why are they shaking again?_

"Do you drink?" The doctor asks. Patrick considers making a snarky reply at his question. _Who doesn't?_ "Yes."

"How long have you been drinking?"

"Since…" Patrick pauses and tries to remember when he had started drinking. _Since he was sixteen, when he played for bands for some cash._ But of course he's not going to tell the doctor that with all the people in the room. "Since I turned twenty-one, I guess."

Why is the room getting hot again? He can hear the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He doesn't register what the doctor is saying until Pete squeezes his hand.

"Mr Stumph, when was the last time you had a drink?"

Brendon's hand travels to his shoulder and holds him. Patrick's beginning to feel irritated at all the questions and the suffocating presence in the room. "Yesterday. Two days ago. I don't know." He frowns. "What does this have to with my result?"

When Joe opens his mouth again, Patrick shrugs off Brendon's hand and pulls his hands away from Pete and his mother, then looks up at the doctor to glare at him. "I dare you to ask more questions."

"Patrick." There's a warning tone in his brother's voice, and Patrick squints his eyes at him. "Oh, you're _still_ here? Don't you have something better to do?"

His brother steps away from the window and gives him a stern look. "Why don't you stop acting like a brat?"

"Why don't you drop dead instead?" Patrick sneers. He enjoys the collective surprised gasps from his family, knowing that they're still in disbelief about his outburst before.

"Watch your tone!" His father snaps as he stomps over to his bed, but Patrick just rolls his eyes, staring at his _stilltrembling_ and _stillshaking_ hands.

"That's enough," Pete voices out. Patrick barely hears him, his eyes zooming in and out before he realizes that his brother is still by the window, and his father is still sitting on a sofa across the room. _They weren't there seconds ago!_

"Patrick, that's enough." Pete repeats in a soft voice and holds Patrick's hand. "T- They were saying stuff. Mean stuff…" Patrick whimpers and brings a hand to his head, tugging sharply on his hair.

"No one is saying anything, Patrick." Pete calms him, rubbing his thumb over Patrick's hand.

"They did! Just seconds ago!" Patrick's eyes burn with rage at Pete. "Didn't you hear them?! You're just like them!" Patrick snatches his hand from Pete and struggles to get out of bed.

"No! Get off!" He yells when Pete, Brendon, and Joe hold him down. "What are you doing?!"

"No one said anything for the past minute!" Pete shouts over his yells. "Patrick, you're the only one who's been talking!"

"Lies! You fucking liar, get off of me!" Patrick wrestles to get free, determined to escape from them and the hospital.

"Patrick, listen to Pete. He's telling the truth!" Brendon chimes, pinning Patrick down by his shoulder and wrist to immobilize him. Patrick cranes his neck and spits at him. "Fuck you. Why should I trust _you?_ "

Patrick continues to writhe on the bed, too occupied with his attempt to escape to notice Brendon's crushed expression, Pete's whispers to calm him down, their mothers' sobs, and their fathers and his brother help to pin him to the bed.

All he notices is a sharp pain on his arm before he blacks out.

-

Patrick doesn't remember much what happened for the rest of the day, only drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The next morning when he wakes up, he finds himself strapped to the bed.

"What the-?" He frowns and yanks his wrist, only to hiss in pain when the strap digs into his wrist.

"Hey, hey. Calm down." Pete soothes him, brushing his forehead gently. Anger starts to bubble up inside him. _In what universe do people calm down when they find themselves tied to a bed?!_

"Let me go this instant." Patrick growls, then tries to pull on the straps again. "Pete! Let me go!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Stumph, but the straps are only temporary. We will take them off soon."

Patrick calms slightly when the doctor enters the room, but the calmness soon disappears as fast as it came, and his temper flares up again. "That still doesn't explain why I have to be strapped to the bed!"

"You're experiencing alcohol withdrawal." Joe jumps straight to the point. "In three days, you've shown moderate to severe symptoms."

"Then give me alcohol, and everything will be peachy again." The sharp tone in Patrick's voice betrays the sweet, sickly smile he has on his face.

The doctor gives him an unamused look and continues his explanation. "The straps are to prevent you from hurting yourself, if you ever hit DT."

"DT?" Pete raises his brows, asking the one question everyone has on their minds.

Joe turns to Pete and nods. "DT, delirium tremens. It's a very serious symptom. It occurs within day three after alcohol withdrawal, especially if you don't eat enough food." Patrick blatantly ignores the pointed look Joe gives him. "The symptom will usually be in its full force during day five."

"How worse can it get?"

Patrick scowls when the doctor flicks his gaze back to him. "Not as worse as being strapped, I hope." Patrick mutters.

"Well, there's a risk of falling into a coma. Or death." Joe tells them. The silence following after is deafening to Patrick's ears.

"There's a very slim chance of that's happening, but we're not taking any chances. I will do my best to get you through the withdrawal safely, and then we'll see where we go from there."

Joe gives him a reassuring pat on his leg before straightening up. "If there's no more question, I'll leave now. And, Mr Stumph, I will come by to check on you again later."

Even when the doctor has left the room, no one opens their mouth, and it's starting to get on Patrick's nerves. If he hadn't been admitted to the hospital, he'd live his life happily without having to suffer from the stupid alcohol withdrawal.

"This is all your fault." He narrows his eyes at Brendon, arms beginning to shake- either from anger or the tremor, he couldn't care less. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd decided to be an ass for once and not bring me to the hospital. Fucking goody-two-shoes."

Patrick grinds his teeth and tugs on the strap again, grunting when it doesn't give much movement to his wrist. He raises his eyes to meet Brendon again and curls his mouth into a sneer. "Words cannot describe how much I despise you, Urie."

He watches as Brendon droops his shoulders and hangs his head, eyes glistening. "S- sorry, Patrick."

"You think a simple _'sorry'_ can fix everything?" Patrick laughs bitterly and rolls his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Everyone's eyes are on him now, watching him, almost afraid to say something. He soaks up at the attention, loving the way that everyone has to walk on eggshells around him now, and not the other way around anymore.

Patrick's in control, and he loves it.

"No." Brendon mumbles quietly from his position. Patrick tilts his head to look at him. "Sorry doesn't fix anything, Urie. Grow the fuck up."

He can see the hurt and guilt flash in Brendon's eyes when he throws his words back at him. Serves him right.

"Brendon didn't do anything wrong, Patrick." His brother voices out, cautious. "He's your friend."

Patrick scoffs at his brother's words and fixes his gaze on him. "Funny. You used to say that to me, remember? And I'm your brother. What difference does it make?"

His brother quickly snaps his mouth shut. Patrick presses his lip in a tight line. His brother used to snap at him whenever he did something with the exact same words. And even after he had apologized, his brother would still be mad at him.

_"Sorry doesn't fix anything! Just go away and bother someone else!"_

His mother opens her mouth next. "Brendon saved your life. You would've died if he didn't bring you to the hospital."

"I didn't ask to be saved!" Patrick snaps, body jerking upwards, but the strains hold him in place.

"I- I think my shift is starting soon. I'll take my leave now." Brendon mumbles before slipping out of the room. Patrick knows Brendon's lying; his shift doesn't start until evening. He lets the lie slide past him.

"Nobody's asking you to stay here anyway." Patrick mutters under his breath, not missing the way Brendon stiffens on his way to the door.

"That was uncalled for." Pete tells him after Brendon has left. Patrick jerks his head to the direction of the door. "The door's that way. You're all welcome to leave."

When nobody makes a motion to leave, Patrick bares his teeth in frustration. "Leave! I don't want to see any one of you!"

Their families only leave when Pete gestures to the door. Pete moves to close the door, and Patrick tilts his head to the side, refusing to look at Pete. "That includes you too." Pete sits on the bed and rubs his legs through the sheet. "We're just worried about you. We couldn't contact you for two months, and when we finally could, we found that you ended up in the hospital."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I _don't_ want to be contacted?" Patrick grumbles. "What do I have to do to make everyone understand that?"

"Patrick…" Pete sighs, "look, we-"

Patrick rolls on his side as far as the strains let him and closes his eyes, ending their discussion right away. He knows he won't be able to fall asleep, but at least it's better than having to talk to Pete.

-

The room is _freezing_ , and Patrick has no clue how everyone look warm and seemingly not bothered with the coldness. With his restrained hands, he tries to burrow deeper into the sheet and shivers, a whimper escaping his lips.

He jerks his head away when a cold hand settles on his forehead. The sudden movement makes him groan, head feeling too heavy, and he can't bring himself to open his burning eyes to see whose hand it belongs to.

"You're gonna be okay. I'll be here."

Pete's hushed whispers sounds too loud in his ears, and he opens his eyes to glare at him, but the light is blinding his eyes that he has no choice but to close them again. "Go away," he mumbles weakly.

His throat is dry, and the room starts to feel warm again. Patrick shimmies out of the sheet and squints his eyes open to look at the small table next to his bed, and finds a bottle of water on it. He raises his hand to get the bottle, but only manage to get the bed rail to rattle.

"Do you need anything?" Pete asks him, one hand holding Patrick's. Patrick looks away and presses his lip into a tight line. His eyes have started to water from the burning sensation.

"Patrick? Are you okay?"

His body tenses when he feels that familiar sensation. It's happening again. The dream, the _nightmare_ he used to have are making its appearance again. He gulps, wincing at the pain in his throat, and braves himself to look down at his arm.

The sharp electronic beeps of the heart monitor accelerates, sending Pete into a frenzy as Patrick tugs harshly on the strains.

The bugs crawl out of his skin, following up his arms and legs, down his head. His breathing becomes short pants when the bugs are getting closer to his face, their tiny bodies creeping up and up and _up_.

Panic fills up his chest as more bugs come out. Patrick begins to scream, matching the volume of the monitor, and tries to wrench his arms free.

"Let me go!"

"Take a deep breath, Patrick." Pete rubs his arm soothingly, one hand in Patrick's hair. "Just close your eyes."

 _"I don't need your help!"_ Patrick roars, thrashing wildly on the bed. "Leave!"

A group of nurses come rushing into the room, sedating him, and Patrick falls lax on the bed, allowing himself to be pulled to the darkness- bug-crawling sensation free. He misses being in the void; he doesn't have to worry or think of anything, and even though it's not exactly sleep, it's still close to sleeping.

He misses sleeping. He misses being asleep.

He floats aimlessly in the dark pit for moments, minutes, hours, _days._ He has no idea how long, but he doesn't mind. As long as he gets to sleep.

-

"Good news, Mr Stumph. You're allowed to go home today." Joe smiles at him as he enters the room. Patrick cocks his head to look at the doctor, an unbelievable look plastered on his face. "R- really?"

Joe nods and walks closer to the bed. "Alcohol's out of your system, your body's healing. There's no reason to keep you in here any longer."

"How long was I out?"

"One week." Joe pats him comfortingly on his shoulder. "We kept you sedated until the DT is over. How are you feeling?"

Without the straps and wires and tubes around him? Weird. Patrick feels weird. And he doesn't know if it's a good kind of weird or a bad kind of weird. "Fine, I guess."

"So, uh, I can go now?" Patrick asks, pushing the sheets down his body and legs, eager to get out of the robes and the hospital.

"Your clothes are on the chair, washed and cleaned." Joe points to the chair, and Patrick almost jumps out of bed to get to the clothes. He can't wait to get back to his place. "Mr Stumph, wait."

Patrick pauses in his step, shirt hanging in his hand. "What is it, doc?"

Joe takes a seat on the bed and sighs. "Now that you're discharged, you must take a better care of yourself. Aspirin-induced ulcer, sleep deprivation, alcohol withdrawal. You're young, Patrick. You shouldn't have all these problems. Alcohol, especially. You didn't start taking it when you're 21, am I right? You took it when you were younger than that."

Throughout the entire time he's at the hospital, this is the first time the doctor calls him by his name. Patrick glances at his bare feet, wiggling his toes, guilty. "Please don't tell anyone about it."

He winces when the doctor sighs again. Great. One more person disappointed in him. "Anyway, when you're done changing, I'll get your medication ready, for your ulcer and post-withdrawal. Going for counseling can help with your post-withdrawal. AA's pretty good, too. It helps to have a supportive environment when you're going through it."

Patrick manages a small nod before replying the doctor. "Right."

"Is your family coming to get you?"

"They're working today. I'll just take a cab." Patrick grabs his pants and digs for his wallet. He sighs in relief when the cash he has is more than enough to pay for the fare.

"Do you live alone?"

"I have a roommate." Patrick smiles at the doctor, hoping he'd buy the lie.

"Well, best of luck in your journey. Don't let me see you again here."

"I won't. Thank you."

As soon as the doctor leaves, the smile immediately drops from his face, eyes turning cold. He needs to get out of the place fast before his family, or _God forbid,_ Pete or Brendon come to visit him.

-

Patrick unlocks the door to his apartment, glad to finally be back at a _familiar_ place. And he even managed to escape from meeting his family and Pete. He tosses the medications and the counselling and rehab pamphlets Joe gave him on the table and switches on the television before stepping inside to the kitchen to drink.

He opens his fridge and, to his surprise, finds one last opened can of beer sitting directly in front of him. He spends a few seconds staring at the beer before shrugging, taking the beer out and slugging it down, relishing the way it hits the back of his throat.

_Looks like he's going to have to stock up on his beer later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao I'm not even sorry
> 
> Leave some comments!


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